


my heart is fire

by weatheredlaw



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bittersweet Ending, F/M, Father-Daughter Relationship, Kid Fic, No Spoilers, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-25
Updated: 2015-09-25
Packaged: 2018-04-23 08:54:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4870819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weatheredlaw/pseuds/weatheredlaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“She has your hair. And your eyes.”</p><p>“She’s got your damn bone structure.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OrilliaOrange](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrilliaOrange/gifts).



> oh gosh i'm sorry. no real spoilers for trespasser here.

She will never endure pain like this again. Oh, this ache, this terrible, horrible ache – she screams and they fetch a cloth, but she doesn’t understand why. Divine Victoria pushes the girl away, and in the secrecy and dead of night, she gives birth to her child. It has been a hard three months since she finally began to show, and in a matter of hours, hours that make the last nine months seem like _nothing_ – she is suddenly not alone anymore.

“A girl,” someone whispers. “A girl, my lady, it’s a girl.”

“Let me see her. Please, let me—”

“Your Worship, I do not think that is wise.”

Cassandra wants to scream again. “Just for a moment,” she says. “Just let me hold her.” The healer holding her daughter looks down at the squirming bundle in her arms and sighs.

“Yes, Your Worship.” With a smile, she hands the child to her mother and motions for her assistant to follow her.

For nine months, Cassandra has hidden her pregnancy. Nine months in the heat of the summer, the swell of her child hidden by those horrendous robes. For nine months, she has fooled them.

For nine months, she has readied herself for this moment. But there is nothing that could have truly prepared her. Nothing to warn her that this would be the hardest thing she has ever had to do.

She had thought bearing her child was the worse pain she could endure.

Giving her up is so much worse.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Kirkwall tends to be at its worst during the summer. In truth, Kirkwall is pretty much a hellhole in all seasons, but summer tends to exacerbate the stench around the harbor.

The harbor Varric paid for. He sniffs that air, wretched smell and all, and figures he’s done enough work for the day. The sun is beginning to dip low beyond the horizon, meaning it’s time for Varric to get a drink, maybe finish a little writing, answer some letters. Turns out that saving the world tends to leave you with a lot of time for yourself, and Varric’s not going to start complaining any time soon.

He’s moved out of his room at the Hanged Man. It’s a relic of a lost time – a good time, but a lost one. His last letter from Hawke was six months ago, and he loves that man like a brother, but he also spent a long time clinging to that life. Varric’s getting old. Ol _der_ , anyway, according to Daisy – it’s time he started living his life on his terms. And he’s starting that out by cleaning up his shithole of a hometown, one piece at a time. He admires the harbor again on his way back from the tavern – honestly, the Hanged Man was the first thing he cleaned up, because even if he wasn’t going to live there anymore, he sure as hell wasn’t going to let it fall to pieces. It was always a good place, but now it’s a good place with a roof that doesn’t leak, and everyone’s lives are better for it. He hums a song that’s needled its way into his head as he fishes around for the key to his cramped little place on the edge of Lowtown, and suddenly finds himself with his nose almost pressed against the chest of a very tall woman. A healer, from the looks of it.

She stares at him. Varric is uncomfortable.

“Can I help you?”

“You are Varric Tethras, are you not?”

“I am.”

“Then this is for you.” The woman leans down and places a bundle in Varric’s arms. “There is a note inside that explains everything, and requests your discretion in this matter.”

“What is—” The bundle moves, and suddenly a little nose makes itself known. “Hang on, you can’t just—” The woman draws a short dagger, the tip of it almost brushing Varric’s nose. “Alright, alright, take it easy.”

“The note, Master Tethras. It will explain everything.” The woman sheathes her blade and turns with a dramatic spin of her travelling cloak. Varric feels like he’s dropped in on a scene in a book he hasn’t written yet. Maybe he did have that fourth drink back at the tavern after all. He shudders and looks down at the bundle. A nose, and now, a mouth. Small, delicate, the shape of a heart.

“Well, shit.”

 

 

 

It becomes quite apparent to Varric very quickly that this is his daughter.

He has nowhere to put her, so he builds a sort of nest on his bed and lays her in it, frowning and going over the letter for the fortieth time.

_There was never a spare moment to tell you, and I did not know until I was well into my term as Divine. But I could not bear to destroy her life, and I could not compromise my position when I had already made such bold promises to the people. I have worked with a healer, whom you have now met, to conceal the fact that I have been with child, and she was born in secret to be given to you, and raised by your hand. I trust you, Varric. You are her father, and the man I love. We made the decision to part, and though it was a pain I chose to bear alongside you, I did not, and could not, have expected this. The Maker’s will displays itself in the strangest ways. Our child is a gift, but it is one that I cannot receive. Call me what you will, curse me with your every breath – I know that I have made as right of a decision as I can, given my circumstances. And I know, beyond a doubt, that she will be loved by you. I hope, someday, that I might meet her. And I know she will grow to become a brave and fantastic woman. Know that I love you both, and I will pray for you ._

Varric sets the letter down, and looks at the sleeping infant. “ _Shit._ ”

What does he know about raising a damn kid? What does he know about any of this?

 _One thing,_ he thinks. Cassandra knew, and she kept it a secret. For the good of them all, he supposes. He can’t imagine what the Chantry would have done with her, knowing she was with child, after so much turmoil. Used it as an excuse to lob her head off, oust her at best. He shudders at the thought, but it doesn’t stop him from wanting to rail at her, send her an angry letter, demanding to know why she thought _he_ would be the best choice for this. What, just because he’s her father? Varric had a father – he wasn’t a very good inspiration.

On the bed, his daughter begins to wake.

“Shit. Shit.” At some point, he’s going to figure out something else to say.

At some point.

She begins to cry. Varric is at a loss. He is bereft. He is wading into this sea, waist deep, and alone. He has no idea what to do. The girl is wailing, now, her cries reaching pitches he’s never heard. Someone will hear, someone will come knocking, someone –

Varric rushes to her, lifts her from her makeshift nest, and holds her close.

“Hey,” he murmurs. “Hey, it’s alright.” She doesn’t seem to agree. She starts to cry louder, harder, her face turning red. “Please,” he says. “Please, you have to stop crying, I don’t know why you’re crying.” He reaches out and the babe suddenly latches onto his finger with her mouth, gumming and sucking. Varric sighs. “You’re hungry,” he realizes. “Shit, you—” He looks at the letter again, this one from the healer who left her.

_You will find on your property a young female goat. You will milk her, and the child will drink the milk._

“How about not.” Varric sighs and sets the girl down again, steeling himself against the crying. He opens the door – it’s pretty much given at any moment in Kirkwall, you can find a kid willing to do whatever you ask if you give him enough coin. Varric pays a young elf boy to fetch him some milk. The boy comes back with it, and Varric pays him twice what he promised. He goes back inside and gets a fire going, heating the milk in a kettle and pouring it into a mug. He soaks a clean rag and dips it in the milk, and she goes to town on it. It takes time, but after an hour, she seems sated, and Varric knows  now that he’s going to need a lot more shit if he’s going to feed this kid efficiently.

Because that’s what he’s doing, apparently.

He’s taking care of this kid.

 

 

 

Word gets around pretty fast that Varric’s got a baby at his house. Daisy’s on him about it the second she finds out.

“She can’t drink milk from a rag, Varric, though it’s very sweet of you to think so.”

“Is it?” Varric is exhausted. He hasn’t slept properly in days. The kid’s hungry. She’s tired. She needs to be changed. And Varric only has _six hundred other things_ he has to do in this damn city before the month’s out. Thankfully, Daisy offers to babysit.

“What’s her name?” she asks, carefully extracting the girl from Varric’s tired, _tired_ arms. He sighs and collapses into a chair. It’s the only rest he’ll have before meeting with the nobles who want him to sponsor one more project, one more fixer-upper in Hightown.

“Hm?” Varric looks up, and the two are a lovely pair – his daughter and his friend. He smiles for the first time in days.

“What’s her name?” Daisy asks again.

Varric leans back and closes his eyes. Cassandra hadn’t named her, and she didn’t need to explain why.

“Ilsa,” he says quietly.

He doesn’t regret his decision. He won’t let himself do that.

He comes home one evening and Daisy’s in the living room with Isabela, of all people.

“Why are you holding my daughter?”

“She is yours, isn’t she? The red hair sort of gave it away. Hopefully she doesn’t inherit any of your other, hairier attributes.”

“Ha. _Ha._ That’s so funny, I could fall down.”

“You look as though you might. Merrill said you needed some things. So I got you some things.”

Varric narrows his eyes. “What’s the catch?”

She narrows her eyes right back. “There is none. You’ve got some secret daughter to take care of. Well, not so secret anymore.” Merrill flushes. “So I got you some things. Really, Varric, a rag?”

“Maker’s _balls._ ” Ilsa begins to squirm and cry at the sound of his voice, and Varric takes her instinctively, without a second thought. “Hey, hey, we talked about this. No more tears when I come back. That’s a good thing, when I’m here. It’s good when I come back.” Isabela stares at him. “Stop it.”

“Fascinating,” she says, and goes to get herself a drink.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Da. _Da._ ”

“Sleeping, Ilsa. We’re sleeping.”

“Knocking, da. Someone’s knocking.”

Varric groans and pushes himself up. “What’s going on, sprout?”

“Knocking,” she repeats, pulling on his sleeve. Varric sighs and relents, getting out of bed. He glances through the window and finds it’s just that seneschal, Bran.

“It’s early,” Varric says, leaning against the door frame. “What do you want?”

“Your presence is requested later today. There’s been a decision.”

“Can’t you just tell me now?”

“That’s _not_ how it works, Master Tethras, you know—”

Varric cuts him off. “Fine, fine. I’ll be there.”

“At ten, if you will.”

“Of course.”

“Alone, as well.” Bran glances at the little thing hiding behind Varric’s legs.

“We’ll see about that one,” Varric mutters, and closes the door.

“Knocking,” Ilsa says. “Terrible knocking.”

“I agree.” Varric bends down and picks her up, because she’s swaying on the spot, getting sleepy all over again. He lays her in his bed and crawls back under the blankets to go to sleep. “The worst.”

 

 

 

“If you’re the viscount, and she’s your daughter, do you think she’ll get kidnapped like that other viscount’s son? Seems like we were always dealing with something or another.”

“Daisy, _please._ ”

“Sorry, sorry.” Merrill looks around the office. “It’s big in here.”

“Da, look!” Ilsa scrambles onto the desk and does a little turn, tripping over a paperweight and nearly tumbling off the edge. Varric catches her. “Tah da.”

“Very impressive, sprout. Careful next time.”

“I will.” She pushes herself up and kisses his nose before squirming out of his arms. Varric smiles and lets Daisy wrap her arms around him.

“I’m proud of you,” she says.

Varric doesn’t cry, not really. Not even a little.


	2. Chapter 2

“ _Oh._ ”

“Don’t you walk too far away from me, young lady.”

“Da, _roses._ ”

“Miss Tethras, _please_ , don’t touch that!”

“Touch whatever you want, sprout, just don’t touch things that are far away.”

“Andraste preserve us.”

 

 

 

Dorian is in love with Ilsa.

“She’s beautiful,” he says. “She’s wonderful. She’s got that spark, I adore her.”

“Good, you can keep her.”

“ _Da!_ ”

“I’m kidding, sprout.”

Ilsa shudders and crawls up Varric’s leg until she can wrap herself around him properly. She bats her eyelashes at Dorian and giggles.

“I’m taking her with me.”

“Well, maybe we’ll come and visit.”

“Yes, that’d be a laugh.”

“A man can hope,” Varric says. Ilsa wriggles away from him and rolls to the ground to play around a rose bush. “ _Careful._ ”

“I want roses, da. At the house.”

“Maybe.”

Dorian leans forward and pours Varric a glass of wine. “You know we all know, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“She’s here.”

“I’m aware, Sparkler.”

“What will you do?”

Varric sighs, draining his glass and setting it down. Dorian mercifully fills it again. “I’ve got no fucking idea.”

“ _Words_ , da.”

“Sorry, sprout.”

Dorian sighs. “She looks like her.”

“She does.”

“She looks like you, as well, don’t get me wrong. But—”

“Those damn cheek bones.”

“Da, _words!_ ”

“I know, I know.” Ilsa wanders back to him, her fingers pink with blood. “Hey, I told you to be _careful._ ”

“For Sera.”

“Alright, in a bit.” Varric sighs and scrubs a hand over his face. “I’m not sure. Maybe…maybe we can avoid her completely.”

“Doubtful.”

“I need to go put her down for a nap, or she’ll be a beast in an hour—” Varric looks around to find his daughter, but she’s gone. “Ilsa?” _Hiding in the rose bushes, going to be covered in scratches, sprout, come out—_ “Ilsa!” Nothing. He turns to Dorian. “Where did she go?”

“I’ve been sitting here same as you!”

“Why weren’t you watching? You haven’t let her out of your sight since you saw her!”

“She’s _your_ daughter.”

Varric growls. “ _Dammit!_ ”

“Look, you go _that_ way—” Dorian points toward the main courtyard. “I’ll go see if she’s somewhere around in the garden.” He shakes his head. “She’s so _crafty._ Gets that from you—”

“Go find my daughter, Sparkler!”

“Alright, alright!” Dorian rushes off, disappearing around a corner. Varric snags a guard and tells him to be on the look out.

“She’s two, she’s this tall, she’s got red hair. Probably the only toddler at the Winter Palace.”

“You brought a toddler to the Winter Palace?”

Varric sighs. “Yes.” He ducks under the judgmental gaze of the guard and starts looking everywhere. He could bother the Inquisitor, get everyone looking, but they’ve got enough on their plates. And this is his kid, she’s his responsibility, he can’t _believe_ he looked away five seconds and she vanished. A rogue without even knowing it. He almost laughs, but it’s the least funny thing that happened to him since that healer dropped her off in his arms. He groans and starts looking in every corner, trying to avoid looking like a crazy person and probably not succeeding.

He swears he hears her laughter, and he follows it, traipses through the courtyard and passes the café. There’s a long wall, and flowers, and places to sit, maybe she found a spot to take a nap –

Varric rounds the corner, and all the air rushes from his lungs.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Divine Victoria has not given much thought to Varric Tethras, or who he might bring.

That is the first lie she tells herself that morning.

She chooses her place in the courtyard, and meets with the Inquisitor. She chooses her place, and she sits. She wonders if he will come to her, but she doubts it. She doesn’t even know if he’s coming or not, but there was a rumor earlier in the week that the Viscount of Kirkwall was on his way to the Winter Palace. She closes her eyes.

Divine Victoria cannot think on it, but Cassandra is distraught.

It is the early afternoon when she considers going inside to rest when the crystal-bright laughter of a child disturbs her thoughts.

She looks down, and there is a girl playing with her robes.

She is beautiful, with red hair, and bright, curious eyes. She is beautiful with tiny hands and a confident, but trembling walk, still learning her place. She is, after all, only two. Two years and six months.

“That’s pretty,” she says.

Cassandra chokes. “Hello.”

“Up?” She extends her hands and Cassandra frowns. The girls sighs. “Miss, up _please._ ”

“Oh! Oh, of…of course.” Cassandra stoops and lifts the girl in her arms. She worries she may drop her, her entire body trembles with the effort. “Are you lost?”

“Da.” She points behind her, but there is no one there.

“Your father?” She nods. Her little fingers are red from picking roses, and there are specks of blood on the sleeves of Cassandra’s robe – but it matters not.

“No, don’t cry,” the girl says, and reaches out with a little hand to wipe the tears from Cassandra’s cheeks.

“I am sorry, little one.”

“ _Ilsa! Ilsa, where—_ ”

Cassandra turns, and the girl’s head snaps instinctively to the sound of her father’s voice.

“ _Da!_ ”

“Ilsa! You can’t—” Varric appears, and stops. Stops short of stepping another foot closer, and the girl slides from Cassandra's grasp and rushes to her father.

Her heart _pounds._

“Da, look! That’s pretty.” She goes to reach for Cassandra’s robs again, but Varric puts a hand on her shoulder.

“That’s Divine Victoria,” he says. “You shouldn’t play with her robes—”  

“I do not mind—”

Varric _snarls._ “I doesn’t _matter_ that you don’t mind. It has _never_ mattered, and it never will.” He picks up his child, and she is, certainly _his._ Cassandra knows that. She gave up any claim when she gave the girl one last look. _My daughter, my child, my heart—_

“Varric? Did you – oh.” Dorian comes around the corner. “Shall I take her?”

“No. We’re going upstairs.”

“Varric—” Cassandra reaches out for him, but he flinches. “Please, might we speak together? In private?”

“Da?” Ilsa looks frightened, and Varric tips his forehead to hers, brushes her nose with his thumb and smiles. Cassandra aches.

“Sparkler, can you put her down for a nap? She’s tired, aren’t you, sprout?”

“No,” she says, but yawns. “No, da, I’m not—”

“There, there.” Dorian takes her and she doesn’t struggle, dropping her head against his shoulder with a sigh. “Let the grow ups have it out.” He puts a hand on Varric’s back for a moment and gives Cassandra a smile. “Your worship.”

“Ambassador.”

Dorian laughs and leaves them alone.

The silence is stifling.

“Varric, she—”

“He name is Ilsa,” he says.

“Yes, I know. She’s…beautiful.”

“Yeah, I guess we did alright.”

Cassandra feels her stomach turn. “You…have done a wonderful job.”

“She’s a wonderful kid.” Varric finally sits on the bench and Cassandra sits with him. “I’m sorry I snapped. I—” He closes his eyes. “Losing you was hard. Getting her made it…worse, somehow. But only for a bit. After a while it just…felt like another connection to you. And then it was more. Then she was mine, and we were a family. And I missed you, but I—”

“You didn’t need me.”

“I’ve always _wanted_ you, but no. We didn’t. We’ve done alright. I don’t say that to hurt you, Seek—” He chuckles. “Your Worship.”

Cassandra shakes her head. “Please. Not from you. I do not deserve it from you.”

“Don’t say that,” he murmurs. “Of course you do. You’ve worked so hard. You’ve done so much.” He shakes his head. “But it’s…hard. To see you. Shit, she looks like you.”

“She has your hair. And your eyes.”

“She’s got your damn bone structure.” They laugh together, and Cassandra suddenly finds her hand in his. “I’ve missed you. But I’m…happy that you gave her to me.”

“She deserved to be loved without hesitation. Who better to give her that than her own father? Than the man I love?”

Varric rests his head against his shoulder, and Cassandra leans on him.

“I am still in love,” she says.

“I know.” He takes a shaky breath. “Me too, Seeker.”

 

 

 

 

After it all, Varric stands in the Divine’s quarters, his sleeping daughter in his arms. He’s eager to get her home.

“Do you need money?” Cassandra asks. Varric nearly falls over laughing. “Forget I said anything.” She sighs. “You will visit? Both of you?”

“We will.”

Cassandra reaches out to stroke the girls hair, but Varric sees her hesitate. He nods, and Cassandra breathes, rubs her thumb along the back of Ilsa’s neck.

“She is…everything I imagined. More than that.”

“You should see her pick locks.”

“ _Varric!_ ”

“She picked it up on her own, I swear.”

“You are a terrible liar.”

He grins and reaches out to take her hand. “Some things never change, huh?”

Cassandra nods. “Yes, but sometimes they do. A great deal. You are a father.”

“I had to be.” He turns his head and presses his lips to Ilsa’s temple. “She needed me to be.”

“You are doing a wonderful job.”

“I’m doing what I can.”

Cassandra nods. “And I…love you for it.”

Varric nods. “I never stopped loving you.”

“Will you tell her, one day?”

He sighs. “I don’t know.”

“Perhaps it would be best if you did not.”

“Maybe. She doesn’t need to know yet. She’s…young. She’ll ask some day. I’ll figure it out then.”

“I’m sure it will be a wonderful story.”

“Well.” He reaches out and pulls Cassandra down, dares to kiss her, one last time. “Maybe this one’ll be true.”

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [the flowers sleeping in her hands](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5042359) by [vehlr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vehlr/pseuds/vehlr)




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